Post by JOHNNY SULLIVAN on Feb 19, 2013 23:16:48 GMT -5
...jonathan patrick sullivan*
* “I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody...They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor…They don't teach you anything worth knowing.” *
[/size]* “I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody...They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor…They don't teach you anything worth knowing.” *
...basics*
name...[/b][/size] Jonathan Patick Sullivan
nickname...[/b][/size] Johnny, or Sullivan. Mostly Johnny.
age...[/b][/size] 26
gender...[/b][/size] male
grade...[/b][/size] N/A
occupation...[/b][/size] Drug deala
hometown...[/b][/size] Chicago born and bred
sexuality...[/b][/size] So straight it hurts
personification...[/b][/size] The Scorpion from The Scorpion and the Frog
status...[/b][/size] dormant
face claim...[/b][/size] Brendon Urie[/blockquote]
...appearance*
physical...[/b][/size] Johnny makes them bitches loco. Highly attractive in a distinctly normal person way (versus Frankie’s Angel God of Beauty way), Johnny’s dark brown eyes fade somewhere between doeish and hot with rage at any given moment. He’s well-built because he’s vain, and manages to keep good muscles despite the drugs. There are a lot of drugs. Standing a bit taller than his best friend at five feet, ten inches, Johnny remains short in a manner that is distinctly, stereotypically Italian. He keeps his hair at a medium length, only getting it cut when it brushes too far into his eyes. Consequently, he can range from looking exceptionally shaggy to exceptionally well-groomed; Johnny cleans up nicely, when he puts effort into it.
clothing style...[/b][/size] Skinny jeans, t-shirts, flannels, sneakers, the occasional pair of thick-rimmed glasses. Johnny grew up in Chicago. He was poor, and then he got some money of his own. Honestly, there’s no way he couldn’t dress moderately-grungy-hipster.
defining traits...[/b][/size] RIDICULOUS Chi-kah-go accent. Like, almost to the point of that famous SNL skit, only more…real. That’s what happens when you grow up South Side. [/blockquote]
...personal info*
personality...[/b][/size] Johnny Sullivan grew up pretending he was cooler, smarter, and richer than he is. It's a habit he's kept. A relatively angry person by nature, Johnny is prone to frequent snaps of temper that sometimes--more often than not--result in violence. He's hit girls before, and can't seem to make himself feel particularly bad about it. But then, he's never liked many of them for much more than attention, anyway. More than anything, Johnny needs to be wanted. Not needed, though that's nice too; he craves that feeling of someone sleeping next to him because they could be somewhere else, but just like his bed better. Like him better. It's been like that since he first got a girlfriend--or a friend, really. He's allowed to see as many people as he wants, but should be exclusive to the ones who want to be with him. Frankie is about the only exception this rule, though really only because the jealousy and anger manifests in a different way.
Despite what teachers insisted throughout his whole life, Johnny is not a dumb kid. He can't read well, and his writing is somewhat lacking, and he almost never paid attention in class, but he doesn't fit the label. Being a problem kid, he got shoved aside. The learning disorder was never diagnosed. He's pretty positive they were all just fucking idiots, especially since he managed to do just fine in History. Every once in a while, the intelligence shows through with a fact, or a reference, or something just slight enough to make someone blink and wonder if they were imagining things, because nothing about this boy speaks intellect.
There's more than one way to be smart, of course, and were Johnny graded in street or people smarts, he would have kept a 4.0 all his life. Manipulative (sometimes subconsciously, mostly knowingly) on the best of days, Johnny weasels his way into things with a street-cred confidence one can only gain by growing up hearing gunshots outside their apartment window. Focused, he keeps things going until he gets where he wants. Adaptation has always been something of a specialty, although he hates blending in almost as much as falling behind. He grew up wanting be known as something other than the baseball captain's tagalong friend, and he got it with the opportunity to deal. That feeling of accomplishment and self-confidence, along with the crippling need for a crutch or an excuse or an escape, is most of what keeps him addicted. And Johnny has quite the addictive personality.
He's a loyal friend, though, and for Frankie especially. When they were seventeen and Frankie overdosed, Johnny stayed at the hospital until he was awake and talking and better again. If he's truly attached, he'll protect someone for life. Still, people aren't totally wrong when they think nothing good can come of him. Parasitic in every way he doesn't completely intend to be, Johnny brings others places they think themselves too good or clean to go, and takes comfort in it not because he likes watching others fall from grace, but because it's comforting.
He isn't alone.
Everybody's fucked.
Johnny's mother is going to die soon. He's been saying that since he was fourteen. It's been true for all those years. She never paid him more attention than the booze, but sometimes when he'd go out at night and his father was passed out on the living room chair, he'd go into her bedroom and tuck her in. It made him feel a little sick, but he'd wipe her mouth and kiss her forehead and sometimes, if he was absolutely positive Dad wasn't waking up anytime soon, he kissed her forehead and whispered "Love you, Ma."
And he'd walk out the door and get himself so drunk or high, he'd forget he had a mother at all.
life until now...[/b][/size] Johnny grew up a wanna-be. He was always the small kid, always the weird one in the back of the class with dirt under his nails and dandruff in his hair. When he was in elementary school, the only reason he didn’t get picked on was because he fought back. And he learned quick about it, too; Johnny wasn’t one to let people walk all over him. Not in public. At home, things were a bit different. The “victim” (though if you use that word, he’ll probably shank you) of a physically abusive father and a neglectful mother, Johnny never brought friends over because it was stupid. People would just stare, or mock him, and to be honest, he was embarrassed of the way his mother always rested practically passed-out on the couch, drooling herself silly with alcohol. His father was a mean man, illiterate and the source of his son’s hot temper. When he got mad, he hit. When he got disappointed, he hid. Johnny got the belt growing up, and a cigarette burn or two on his arms—though really, those were more accidents than anything.
Because of his home life, Johnny spent a lot of time away. He’d sneak out his bedroom window and climb down the fire escape and wind up somewhere or another, either a park or, more likely than not, his Aunt Maggie’s house. Aunt Maggie was his father’s sister, and somewhat of a Chicago Mrs. Weasley-type. A single mother for her son, Tommy (Johnny’s older cousin by three years), Maggie was every bit the mother Johnny wished his own would be. She made him welcome, demanded he come over every Sunday for brunch, and ordered him to do his chores just as harshly and often as she did her own son. When he got in the way, she gave him the paddle—but only if he needed it. Maggie was stability. Maggie was home.
And Tommy was mischief. From his cousin, Johnny grew up learning the ways of the underground world of the Windy City. He took the L with Tommy to school, soaked up everything the older boy told him with intense admiration and later, related every word of wisdom onto his best friend, Frankie Vulpini.
Johnny met Frankie when they were in second grade. They were sitting next to each other, both managing to masterfully mock the dweebish kid sitting in front of the eldest Vulpini child. After that and a cigarette shared behind the school yard (Johnny’s second, Frankie’s first), the two were inseparable. Johnny initially stuck with Frankie because God, he envied that kid. Bastard didn’t know how good he had it. Big house, pool in the backyard, gigantic room of his own—Frankie was everything Johnny wanted and never, ever was able to have, and so at first he stuck with him out of resourcefulness. Eventually, of course, they became true best friends. Johnny grew up spending more time at the Vulpini’s house than his own. On Sundays, the boys would go to Maggie’s house for brunch. They became brothers. Frankie was fine with it, as he’d decided he didn’t like the one he’d been give, and Johnny liked the idea because Frankie never seemed to see him as dirty or weird or ridiculous, even if that was just because Johnny made more of an effort to hide those things around him.
Johnny didn’t grow up a nice kid. He couldn’t. Survival instincts simply would not allow it. He got into fights frequently, causing trouble both inside the classroom and out. Really, he wasn’t a dumb kid. There was something wrong with him—he knew because he couldn’t latch on to things like the other kids, couldn’t seem to remember certain facts of figures. Whenever anyone made fun of him, he threw a punch before they could finish their sentence. He got in trouble, but the teasing stopped. And Frankie stood up for him. Together, they made it through middle school easily, and when puberty began to hit properly, they skyrocketed even higher in the popularity rankings.
Frankie was always more popular than Johnny. He had money, and everyone knew it. He was more confident and honestly, Johnny resented him for it even then. Frankie was nice, though (not even meaning to be, it was just loyalty) and the two of them went everywhere together.
Johnny started dealing in high school. He’d smoked before then, but Tommy showed him how to make money off the habit and by God if he’d never been more grateful for anything in all his life. There was a sense of empowerment that came with walking away with his own cash, being able to buy himself clothes, not having to wear Tommy’s hand-me-downs, hemmed up by Aunt Maggie when they got too ripped or worn. With his own cash, he could be whatever he wanted. Remaking himself was easy.
He had girls, after that. Dates were fun, dances were better, and although he never kept a single girl that exclusively, no one really seemed to mind. If they wanted that, they could go out with Frankie—not that the two boys had the same taste. High school blended into college, and Johnny somehow managed to get himself into the University of Illinois along with his best friend. They roomed together, went to parties together, each helped the other when they happened to accidentally-nearly overdose. When Frankie met Jennie and the two started dating, Johnny kept his style of living just the same because nothing was wrong; it wasn’t like he expected the guy to fucking marry her or anything.
And then he did.
And Johnny was the best man and he didn’t even bother trying not to hate that motherfucking bitch, and a large part of him didn’t feel even a little guilty when he suggested Frankie try a speedball because it meant someone would be fucking themselves over with him. And he couldn’t be happy anyway.
the present...[/b][/size] When his best friend divorced and Johnny nursed the poor, destitute kid back to health via an abundance of cocaine and other “pharmaceuticals,” he felt confident things were going alright again. The playing field was leveled. After all that, Johnny dropped his Chicago connections (save his aunt and cousin), packed his things, and moved to New York. He’d convinced Frankie it’d be a good idea to get out, and his friend had given in because of something to do with his little sister, the scrawny brat Johnny had helped to sadistically tease for the majority of his childhood and adolescence. He’d never liked Hannah much.
New York is good. He has a nice little network set up, with big client names and just the sort of protection he wants. The city is bigger, but considering he grew up in one too, it’s really not so bad. He’s got a fairly nice place set up around the Washington Heights area—not too shabby, not too odd to attract attention given the neighborhood. The operation might just be starting, but he’s damn confident it’s headed somewhere; really, the only question is where.
other notes...[/b][/size]
Absolutely Nothing
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Chops'
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed alot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it.
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Autumn'
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed alot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Innocence: A Question'
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at 3am he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly.
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it 'Absolutely Nothing'
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.
--Osoanon Nimuss [/blockquote]
...literature*
title... The Scorpion and the Frog
backstory... A Scorpion asks a frog for a lift across that there river yonder. The frog says "Hell naw, you'll just shank me with dat stinga'," and the scorpion laughs, not because the frog sounds like a racist white person's interpretation of ghetto "street slang," but because it is silly. If the scorpion stings the frog, they'll both sink and drown! The frog, relieved by this fact, agrees to take the scorpion across the river. They make it halfway before, in a tragic twist of fate, the scorpion stings the frog. As they're both about to drown, the frog asks why the scorpion would do such a thing. The scorpion replies that it's just in his nature.
...the roleplayer*
tell us about you...[/b][/size] Scout is bringing her bby to OUAC[/blockquote]
